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Sunday, 6 December 2015

Sunday Snog in the Snow

Welcome to a very special Sunday Snog in the Snow, sponsored by Mimi De Luxe. I've got a steamy snog coming up for you from Candy Canes and Coal Dust which was one of the very first stories I had published. It's menage a quatre so things get pretty crowded in the bedroom of a gorgeously Festive Finnish hotel. Keep reading to find a contest too...

Back Cover Information

Bridget's always been a good girl hoping for the perfect Christmas present, but it's not until her dirty desires are exposed in a very public dream that she gets the ultimate dirty treat to rock her festive season.

A Finnish skiing holiday is the perfect winter wonderland for Bridget to escape her ex at Christmas time - beautifully decked trees, roaring log fires and plenty of mulled wine. What she doesn't count on, however, is a very erotic, very dirty dream on the plane from London to Levi - three perfect lovers all indulging her every whim and desire, how could she not moan and groan and beg for more?

But every dream must end, and as Bridget wakes, with toe curling embarrassment, she realises every passenger on the plane has heard her frantic orgasm...including the gorgeous Irish guy sitting to her left!

Chapter One

Meltingly soft reindeer fur tickled Bridget’s naked behind. She squirmed in delight, closed her eyes and nestled deeper into the rug. Beside her, a huge log fire crackled. It heated her skin, danced through her hair and filled the room with the tangy scent of pine needles.

Letting out a contented sigh, she offered no resistance as the hot young man—who had no name, just a perfect, angled face—pushed her thighs apart, clamped them in place with big, determined hands and began to lap at the soft folds of her pussy. Blood pooled in her pelvis and she bowed her spine towards his mouth in time with his glorious rotations around her clit and the rhythmic pumping of his two longest fingers.

Above her, another man—same angled face and mop of blonde Nordic hair—offered his long, swollen cock for her to suck. Eagerly she parted her lips, flattened her tongue into a bed of moisture and pulled him in. A groan erupted from his mouth and a long, low rumble came down her nose. His hands clasped over her ears as he began to thrust in and out, over and over, the speed and tempo building with each plunge. The sound of pulsing blood rushed through her ears, whooshing and beating—it roared like a jet engine travelling at full throttle.

She tasted the salty tang of precum and knew he was close, his desperation peaking like her own as the expert attentions at her sex continued.

But this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Without having to voice her desires, the two men flipped her onto all fours. The fur was soft on her knee caps and smooth under her palms. Before she knew what was happening, Guy Number One had settled beneath her and was guiding her down onto his enormous, erect penis.

Bridget dropped until she was filled to capacity then clenched him with eager muscles, drawing him in, higher and higher. She began to move, rocking as he gripped her hips with urgent hands and encouraging her movements. Her clit rubbed against his soft, straw- coloured pubes and she felt the delicious tug of orgasm once again.

But it still wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

She murmured and pushed tails of damp hair from her face, “More, more...please, more.”

Guy Number Two moved in behind her and his hands smoothed over the orbs of her butt cheeks. The roar was still thundering through her ears, deafening and invading her thoughts, but she dismissed the unfamiliar noise—sensation was all she was interested in.

An inquisitive finger delved down the crack of her buttocks and pressed at her anus. She gasped as he pushed into her darkest hole, squirming and stretching her as he went.

This was almost what she needed; she was nearly there.

The finger retreated only to be replaced by the thick, smooth head of the penis she’d been sucking until moments ago. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, now...fuck me.” He obliged and squeezed in through the tight band of muscle, slow and steady, right to the hilt. There was no pain, no sharpness, just extreme pleasure. “Oh, that’s so good,” she mumbled curling her fingers into fur. “So...damn...good.”

The two men began to thrust in perfect sync. One in, one out, riding her senses into realms of ecstasy she never thought she’d go. The fire hissed. A log tumbled out. They didn’t notice; they kept on fucking, the men intent on pleasuring her before themselves.

But it still wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Bridget moved her head, her mouth open and searching. She knew it would be there somewhere—she just had to find it.

Ahh, there it was, another beautiful cock being offered forward on a hand wearing a thick, black ski glove. She glanced up. The owner of the penis wore a reflective, orange ski mask and his mouth was set in a hard line; determined, eager, impatient. But she needed no extra persuasion. This was the icing on the cake, the final piece of her jigsaw.

She leant forward and sucked him in greedily, eating him up like a starving woman. She rolled his glans around her tongue then thrust him against the back of her throat. He hissed like a punctured tyre and began to time his rhythm with the other two cocks invading her body.

Bridget whimpered in delight and gave control over to her three expert lovers. Now she could indulge in an orgasm. This was how it was supposed to be, every hole filled, every carnal desire indulged at the same time. Her womb and anus were being pounded into, sublime cocks sweeping past every nerve ending. Her mouth was absorbing the heat and lust of the sexy man looming over her. He clasped her head between his gloved hands. The roaring in her ears reached a crescendo as she climbed the ladder to satisfaction, letting her clit lead the way.

Suddenly she was there, suspended in a moment of sheer bliss, the glorious anticipation of magnificent contractions and spasms within reach. She sucked harder, groaned and moaned, pushed backwards into the cocks fucking and buggering her. Then it consumed her; washed through her, wave after wave of hammering delight.

“You want more?” the guy with the ski goggles asked in his husked, unfamiliar accent.

Bridget nodded around his cock—she wanted this to carry on forever. Please let this never stop.

“Would you like some mortar?” he said again.

Bridget nodded, letting her womb spasm around the cocks buried so deeply within her. “Are you alright, would you like some water?” A female voice interrupted the guy with the ski goggles.

Bridget felt a soft hand rest on her forearm.

The roar in her ears was so loud it was disorientating and confusing. But it wasn’t being caused by a set of hands covering her ears any more. In fact, there was no set of hands covering her ears.

“Madam, is there anything I can get you?”

Bridget kept her eyes shut as the cocks disappeared from her body and her beautiful Finnish lovers evaporated into thin air. This couldn’t be happening. She was still dreaming, surely she was still immersed in fantasy. How could fantasy switch to a nightmare so damn quickly?

“Madam.” The soft voice said again, this time it was accompanied by an insistent shake of Bridget’s forearm. “Madam.”

Bridget forced open her eyes to the harsh, artificial light of the plane. She gulped. It was as bad as she feared. This was her reality, not a powder-soft rug in front of a perfect log fire with three beautiful men indulging her every fantasy. Reality was sitting on a plane, on Christmas Eve, travelling to Finland for a solo skiing holiday.

She looked into the pale blue eyes of the young airhostess. There was a flicker of concern in their depths, but the main emotion was pity. In that instant, in that split unguarded second, those eyes told Bridget she’d made all the noises associated with her dream. Every grunt, groan, moan and murmur for more had spilt treacherously from her lips.

She swallowed tightly, her mouth bone dry with toe curling embarrassment. She reached for the offered glass of water. “Thanks,” she squeaked, lifting the cup to her lips. She took a sip and squirmed on the prickly material of seat thirty two C. She could still feel the blood raging through her pelvis, the adrenalin of the dreamy orgasm still heightening all her senses and making her breaths shallow. If only that had been reality and not this, if only she’d really been with three perfect lovers, instead of sitting alone, with a redundant sex life and no hope of its re-activation any time soon.

Feeling a flush of mortification sweep across her chest, up her neck and over her cheeks, she glanced across the narrow aisle—a sea of curious faces were fixed her way. Some looked greatly amused, others concerned, and a few appeared plain old shocked. Bridget tried a half smile but it came out more of a grimace and did nothing to relieve the indignity of having had a wet dream in front of a group of total strangers.

Oh, why had she fallen asleep on the plane? It wasn’t as though it was a long flight from London to Levi. Why couldn’t she have just read a book, or listened to her MP3 like normal people do? She wasn’t one to hope for turbulence, but at this moment, a pocket of unstable air to send them all plummeting several thousand feet would serve her very well.

She prepared to take a sideways peek at the guy sitting in thirty-two B. When he’d sat down ,she’d thought he was cute, just her type, tall and slim, with mussed up black curls and a face that looked more than ready to be inappropriately cheeky. She’d hoped they’d spark a conversation, but immediately after take off, he’d plugged in earphones and started watching a war film. It was his fault, she decided irritably. If he hadn’t been watching the film, they would have conversed, maybe even flirted, and she wouldn’t have fallen asleep at all.

She turned and found his pot-hole black eyes sparkling with curiosity. He tipped his head and tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. His left eye brow rose, creasing his forehead into three neat lines. The minute their eyes met, Bridget knew he had, like everyone else within ten feet, guessed the explicit content of her dream.

But despite the humiliation of being caught masturbating in public (which was exactly what if felt like), Bridget held his inquisitive gaze, she couldn’t deny her dream—it’d been obvious to everyone—but did he have the nerve to ask her about it? Did he have the nerve to comment?

It seemed he didn’t, and after several, painstaking seconds, he pulled his attention back to his film without uttering a word.

Bridget dragged in a deep breath, reached for the duty-free catalogue and buried her head low. At least nobody could guess just how degraded her dream had been, how filthy and disgusting she’d demanded to be treated in her ménage a quatre. That, thank goodness, was for her alone to know.

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